


Bereft

by weirdweasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdweasley/pseuds/weirdweasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They're not star-crossed lovers. She refuses to let this become some kind of tragedy where he's always absent and she's always waiting."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bereft

 

_**But seas forever boil, trees will turn to soil**_  
  
_**Stars will always hang in summer's bleeding fangs**_  
  
_**sea of teeth - sparkle horse**_  
  
She has spent the past week making a mental list of all the things she’d rather do instead of this. It’s a very long list. She could move to Sweden and search for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, or spend an entire month locked up in the same room with all the Delacours. Or she could let Aunt Muriel teach her how to be a “proper” lady, even reform S.P.E.W. with Hermione. She could make people call her Ginevra, or marry Zacharias Smith —perhaps she’s gone too far with that one— but she sure as hell would do it all instead of spending her night at some swanky ball.  
  
Her hair falls down her back in soft, red tendrils. The dress is long and elegant and it makes her feel confident and different. The dark blue silk looks almost black against her pale skin, but she’s glad that Fleur made her wear the fancy dress and the ridiculous shoes. Perhaps she should’ve worn something less revealing that would hide the scar that runs from her left shoulder to her spine, but it serves her as a memento. And she needs to be reminded of her own strength most days. Surprisingly she has never felt more secure in her whole life. Even if her father gasped at the sight of her back and she could swear she saw her mother tear up.  
  
“It’s not that bad, just a cutting curse that didn’t heal right.”  
  
She said with a forged smile, because she couldn’t stand the sad look on their faces. She won’t tell them that it was her punishment for screaming that she was not afraid of Tom, because Voldemort was just a made-up name. She knows it was more stupid than brave, but most days she felt like a combination of both.  
  
She has always been a woman with a purpose, and tonight she has a strategy. She’ll stand away and make sure her family enjoys the stupid ball (and she will make sure he doesn’t end up talking to some pretty witch that looks starstruck by the heroic prat).  
  
With a drink in her hand she wonders how the dancers look so happy and if perhaps she should join them. His hand on her shoulder drives her away from her thoughts and he asks if he can stand next to her because he can’t handle shaking one more hand and hiding from the reporters has turned out to be more physically demanding than playing quidditch.  
  
“But this is your party,” she says mockingly running a hand through her coppery curls. “This is all for the Savior of the Wizarding World.”  
  
“I don’t want a party, Ginny,” he replies. “And neither do you, or half of this people.”  
  
“Yet, here we are.”  
  
“Yet, here we are.” He repeats and she wonders if the slump of his shoulders and the tremble of his voice mean resignation or disappointment.  
  
“You look nice,” she says and the faint smile on his face is swift, but so perfect and so him.  
  
And he does look nice in his new dress robes that her mum made him buy. He looks older and grander.  
  
“So do you,” he replies and she avoids his eyes for fear of giving away her true emotions.  
  
The silence prolongs between them and it’s enough to make her uncomfortable and to make her think that maybe it’s too different. So she starts babbling about changing and he says he hasn’t changed much, that it’s her who has changed and she fears that he’s right. She tells him that life is a cycle and everything and everybody changes at some point. She has always known that things change. Sometimes it takes years and sometimes it happens overnight, but in the end everything changes… even if they’ve tried to convince themselves that it hasn’t…she’ll change and he’ll change.  
  
“If you have something to say, just go for it, Potter.”  
  
Her voice is defiant and brash as she tells him. He keeps glancing at her back and it’s getting on her nerves. And Ginny Weasley has never been known for her imperturbability.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Stop acting like you’ve never seen a dress before,” she tells him knowing perfectly that it’s not about the dress. “It’s not polite to stare.”  
  
“I wasn’t staring,” he replies defensively. “Just…erm…it’s a nice dress, that’s all.”  
  
“Alright,” she sighs. “Thanks.”  
  
He’s quiet and just stares at the guests that dance softly to an old love song she’s sure she has heard before. She wishes his silence meant understanding and complicity, but it just means apathy and melancholy.  
  
Maybe he wasn’t paying attention at all. Maybe he has been ignoring her words like he has been ignoring everyone else’s this summer. He’s never been extremely talkative, but she remembers when even without talking she knew he was still there. She remembers the times when his eyes told her more than he ever wanted her to know.  
  
Now he’s just taciturn and absent and his eyes are weary and vacant. And it bothers her to no end, though it shouldn’t, because they’re not together. And she wants to help him, though she shouldn’t, because he doesn’t want her help.  
  
It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be there. She can see it in the way he stands with his left hand in his pocket and his right hand holding a butterbeer that must have gone warm by now. He keeps glancing at the entrance and she keeps glancing at him. He hates the attention, always has, and though he stands next to her, the distance from his body to hers has never seemed larger. She doesn’t want to be there either, because it’s a “celebration” and she’s supposed to be happy and dancing and drinking and mingling, but instead she stands away from the party and just observe everything from afar in hopes that her family won’t see her. They don’t want to be there either. Perhaps she shouldn’t be standing next to him, because his tall figure, and the green eyes, and the messy hair, and the lanky looks, it all brings attention, but he’s always made her feel invincible and protected, even when he feels oceans apart.  
  
The firewhiskey makes her throat burn and her eyes get watery, and it makes her body feel lighter and her smile become wider. Her brothers got their mum to dance with them and it makes her so happy, because they deserve some joy, even if she knows that at night the nightmares visit and the absence of their brother creates an aching hole in their chests. Her father laughs at them and she laughs at her father because he looks happy for the first time in weeks.  
  
Before she knows it she hears herself roar with laughter and then there’s silence, though the room is filled with music and mirth and voices, because the silence only comprises them two and he’s staring at her with astonishment and curiosity.  
  
She takes the bottle from his hand and places both drinks on a nearby table. She takes his hand and drags him to the middle of the ballroom, aware that she has never danced with him and knowing he can’t dance at all.  
  
His hands are tentative on her waist and hers are confident on his shoulders. She’s aware of his blush and he must be aware of her clumsiness, though she’s not sure if it's caused by the firewhiskey or his proximity. There was a time when she imagined their first dance together. Just another fairytale world she invented to feel less lonely when her brothers were away and it was only her left at home. She imagined a pristine white dress and a majestic wedding, not a dark blue ball gown and a ballroom at the Ministry. She prefers this version, because the other one is obsolete and he's nothing like she imagined.  
  
Sometimes she’s not sure of how he is at all.  
  
They dance unhurriedly and out of time. She has placed her head on his chest and it pleases her to know that his heartbeats are as irregular and chaotic as her own. The time slows down and the music sounds distant.  
  
“I’m going to start Auror training,” he says. “I leave in three days.”  
  
”When do you come back?” The words leave her mouth before she can stop them.  
  
“In a year,” he says. “Maybe a few more months.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“I don’t want you to be.”  
  
“I want to stay, but there are so many Death Eaters left and I have to help find them —“  
  
“Need,” she interrupts him. “You don’t have to find them. It’s not your obligation. You already did more than enough. But you need to find them. You won’t be happy until you’ve captured every single fugitive Death Eater.”  
  
“Yeah."  
  
The silence is thick and makes her uneasy.  
  
He grasps her hands and disentangles them from his hair. Now she realizes she has been holding to him like a lifeline and they were not dancing anymore. He mumbles a pathetic excuse and moves away. She’s dumbstruck and confused and wants to throw a fit and tell him to stop being such a fucking defeatist and to stay, but she just asks him why and looks pathetic. She chases him through the crowded ballroom, ignoring the bemused expressions of the guests that probably wonder why the great Harry Potter is in such a hurry and why the redhead is rushing after him.  
  
The corridor is deserted and she has always been a fast runner, even wearing a ball gown and shoes that add seven centimeters to her stature. She stands before him and he looks defeated and tired and older.  
  
"I'm leaving," he says. "I -I'll see you soon...before I leave, but I need to get out of here."  
  
She opens her mouth but nothing comes out. She would like to think that her tongue has been cursed and that's what's stopping her from yelling, but the truth is that she is not even sure of what to say.  
  
She would never ask him to stay. It would make her selfish. She’s not selfish. It would make her needy. She doesn't need him.  
  
"Is Ron leaving with you?"  
  
"Yes," he answers. "We talked to Kingsley before the Ball started. Hermione declined, she's going back to Hogwarts. We're telling your parents tomorrow and leaving early on Monday."  
  
"I'm glad for you."  
  
"Are you really?" she wishes that he didn't sound so defensive and that she sounded truly glad.  
  
"Yeah," if he wants to be defensive then she can be too. "It's what you want, isn't it? To be away, to do the right thing, to not have to talk, to leave."  
  
"Yes, it's exactly what I want," he responds defensively. "And yes, it is the right thing to do. But I'm not doing it because I want to leave."  
  
"You would think that all you want is to stay away."  
  
"What makes you think that?"  
  
"Perhaps the fact that you've been ignoring everybody since we came back to the Burrow," she replies, the words burning her tongue. "Perhaps the fact that we've talked more tonight than in a whole year. I don't know, Harry, perhaps it’s because you look at me and say I've changed, but I'm not even sure of who you are or what you want anymore."  
  
He sighs and she wonders if he's trying to control himself. She just wants him to lose that stupid self-control that makes him look like a soldier. She doesn't need a soldier or a knight or a savior.  
  
"Well," he says finally. "You're right, I've changed. I'm sorry for not talking or ignoring you, I didn't think you would need me."  
  
"What is that supposed to mean?" she’s scared of his answer.  
  
"It means that you and your family have enough to deal with," he says. "You don't need me around anymore. I said I didn't want to leave and it's true. I don't want to, but it's for the best. It's a great opportunity."  
  
She should've expected this. Him leaving. Him thinking he wasn't needed anymore. Him not knowing that he’s been a part of her family since her mum knitted him his first Christmas sweater.  
  
"You're an idiot," she says loudly. "If you don't want to be part of the family, then leave. If you think I don't need you, then you're right. I don't need you.”  
  
Her tongue is caustic and her words are bitter. But she won't cry and she won't apologize. He's infuriating. Maybe her family needs him, but not her. She’s just fine without him.  
  
"Good to know," he says coldly. "I know you've never needed me. And it's for the best probably. It really should be a good thing. Though sometimes I wish you did. And I know I've been avoiding you and everybody else, but I really wish you needed me sometimes."  
  
"You don't want me to need you," she smiles sadly. "If I needed you then I wouldn't want you to leave. I would ask you to stay. I would beg you. I would be selfish and needy and idiotic. If I needed you then I wouldn't be happy without you. I would not be able to love other people...It's better if I don't need you. And you don't need me either."  
  
"It's complicated," he sighs. "I'm leaving again and it'll be at least a year until I come back. It wouldn't be fair for you. It's still dangerous, you know? It'll be until we get the remaining Death Eaters."  
  
"When isn’t it going to be dangerous?" She doesn't want to cry, she doesn't want him to know that she misses him so bad that sometimes it makes her physically ill.  
  
"That's the point," he tells her sounding defeated. “It’s always going to be dangerous.”  
  
“Don’t let that stop you,” she responds. “It hasn’t stopped Ron and Hermione, or Bill and Fleur, or my parents. It didn’t stop Lupin and Tonks, and it didn’t stop your parents.”  
  
It’s a low blow and she can tell it makes him mad, but now that she has started she can’t stop.  
  
"Are you going to spend your life alone because you're too scared?" she yells.  
  
"Ginny," he says calmly. "I just want what's best for you."  
  
"Stop doing that! Stop deciding what I can and can't do!"  
  
"Well, someone has to!"  
  
She wants to punch him and hex him and leave him there. She wants to tell him that he's wrong and that she can make her own decisions, thank you very much.  
  
"I've been thinking about us," his voice is low and so sad that it shakes her resolve. "Last year I thought that we would be together after it was over, but it's really for the best if we're not. I can't make you wait for me every time I'm away. What if -what if something happened to me? I can't, Ginny. I'm sorry."  
  
He starts walking away and she thinks that she should let him go. He can leave and never come back. He can go away and be happy. She won't kick and scream, she won't tell him that her heartbeats turn frantic in his presence and that his voice makes her tremble.  
  
“You’re a coward.”  
  
He seems paralyzed. No one would dare call the great Harry Potter a coward. But she doesn’t care about his merits and accomplishments. She doesn’t care that he defeated Voldemort and that he’s been fighting Evil since he was a baby. In that moment he’s only the boy that broke her heart and now refuses to make amendments because he’s too afraid.  
  
“You’re a coward because you’re too scared to lose,” her eyes burn with unshed tears. “The war is over and you’re alive, but you act as if you were dead. You move around the house doing every chore, but you’re incapable of talking to anybody about the fucking weather. You look miserable and it breaks my heart to think that you will never be happy. I miss you, and —and I know it’s hard and I know you’re scared, but so am I.”  
  
“Ginny, please,” he says pleadingly. “I —I can’t stay.”  
  
“I’m not asking you to.”  
  
“Do you ever think that maybe it’s just not meant to be?”  
  
“How can you say that?” she asks him and she’s glad his back is turned to her and he can’t see her pained expression.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he replies. “I can’t stop thinking that this is my duty and that once again I have to make a choice. Maybe we should both move on. I…I just want you to be happy, you deserve it.”  
  
“No,” she replies willfully. “I refuse to become an almost and have a life based on good intentions and wishful thinking. I’m scared too. The fear is so deeply ingrained in my bones that sometimes I want to run, but I won’t. I know you feel guilty, and I know you’re terrified of what will happen now everything is over, but you don’t have to go through that alone.”  
  
“I read about what happened last year at Hogwarts,” he says. “I read your testimony about the Carrows. I keep thinking that it’s my entire fault. They targeted you, Ginny. I can’t let something else happen to you. Even if Voldemort is gone…there’s always going to be some dark wizard out there, and if I’m going to be an auror —if I’m going to be an auror then it’s for the best that I’m alone.”  
  
She wants to be angry and tell him he had no right to read her statement, that it was her secrets to share, but she finds it somewhat comforting that he knows what she has been through without having to talk about it.  
  
She knows longing, she knows hate, she knows anger, she knows bravery, she knows cowardice, and she knows that sometimes emotions can be felt all at once and that ironically enough that makes you feel nothing. But she feels so much and it breaks her heart to see him trying not to feel.  
  
He doesn’t turn as she walks to stand in front of him. His eyes are closed and he seems deep in thought. She kisses his cheek and looks at him wanting to memorize every single detail of his face, from the famous scar to his stubbly chin, but it’s pointless because she has known every single one of his features for years.  
  
“Not everything has to be a disaster, you know?” she says.  
  
As she starts walking away she feels his gaze burning her. Part of her wishes he would follow her, but she prefers to be left alone right now. She can hear the distant sounds of the party and the staccato of her heels on the marble floors. She walks the empty Ministry halls, wanting to floo home.  
  
She has forgotten that firewhiskey and the floo don’t go well together and she is quickly reminded as she stumbles out the chimney. The Burrow is dark and silent and she hasn’t felt this lonely in a while. But Ginny Weasley is fine, she never gives up, and she believes in him. Some would say it’s stubbornness, but she prefers to call it determination. They’re not star-crossed lovers. She refuses to let this become some kind of tragedy where he’s always absent and she’s always waiting.  
  
Her world is spinning, but she doesn’t know why anymore.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, let me know your thoughts.


End file.
